


A Branch in the Nile

by QuillsAndInk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alexandria - Freeform, Angst, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2019, Egyptian AU, Fluff, Fuck Buddies to Lovers, God granted Powers, God-kings, Gods, Historical AU, Illustrated, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, Lions and leopards, M/M, Pharaoh!Cas, Praetorian Guard!Dean, Roman AU, Soulmates, big cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 19:12:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19302031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillsAndInk/pseuds/QuillsAndInk
Summary: Iohannes Dean, former legionnaire and prefect of the Praetorian Guard of Rome has been sent to Egypt as a gift to the Pharaoh. Suspected of treason and alone in a strange land, Dean tries valiantly to guard the Pharaoh while keeping a firm grasp on his ties to Rome. But Castiel is far from the man he expected and as emotions toward him begin to build, Dean must question everything he thought he knew of Rome and of himself. Is love really worth losing a home for?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge, HUGE thanks to my artist BeesAreAwesome. Her art inspired me, kept me awake at night, forced the sands of Egypt from my heart to the page. I’m glad to call her a good buddy now and I’m sure you can expect more collaborations from us in the future!!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: this is a piece of historical fiction. By no means should the whole of this fic be taken as truth. There are as many accuracies as make sense and where they didn’t work, we bent them a little. Neither author nor artist condone acts that in today’s times have been rightly recognized as atrocities, but since they are things that happened, it made sense to write them in. Keep this in mind as you read and thank you for doing so!

   The trireme charged through the waves of the open sea. It was a little extravagant of a vessel to be used to bring gifts to the Pharaoh of Egypt, but Consul Crassus had wanted there to be a show of might, and Dean couldn’t help but agree. He was more comfortable on the trireme than a merchant ship anyway; he had captained plenty and had spent time in warships alongside his father since he was a boy. Despite his feeling of ease on the ship, nerves simmered beneath his skin. Dean himself, prefect of the Praetorian Guard of the Consulate of Rome, was being presented as a show of good will to the Pharaoh.

     Dean had agreed readily when the idea was explained to him, for no other reason than to prove his loyalty. There had been whispers among the guard of an uprising led by the prefects. The rumor had no doubt been discovered by the Senate, on information from Cicero’s spies. Cicero had never been a friend to Dean’s father and after catching sight of tails several times, Dean had a sinking suspicion that he was a suspect. And if Dean was a suspect, then his brother, Sam would also be in danger, and that Dean couldn’t abide that, so he jumped at the prospect of proving his loyalty to the Senate.

        And now, nearly two weeks later, Dean was on a warship with his standards, his belongings and everything else he knew far, far, behind him. Dean stood at the prow of the ship. Beside him was a Gallic freedman turned pedagogue named Garth. Garth was an odd fellow, in Dean’s opinion, but his knowledge of Egypt was worth its weight in denarii. He was being employed by the Consulate to make sure Dean didn’t make a fool of himself or Rome.

         “Make sure you prostrate yourself at the Pharaoh’s feet,” Garth said.

          “I know,” Dean replied, his eyes not leaving the sea. He didn’t need the freedman to know he was afraid of what he would find on the shore.

          “And make sure you don’t address him as familiarly as you address the Consulate,” Garth added as though Dean had not spoken.

          “I _am_ formal with the Consulate and the Senate. I serve and protect them,” Dean bit back.

          “Are you _sure_?” Garth raised his voice a few octaves and lifted a hand that was covered by a woolen sheath with a poorly drawn face. He turned it sternly toward Dean. Dean refused to feel chastened.

           “I’m not a child. I told if I saw that puppet again, I’d shove it up your ass,” Dean snapped.

           Garth just shrugged serenely.   “What can I say? I normally teach children and Mr. Fizzles here helps them learn a whole awful lot.”

          “Forget the damn puppet. Just tell me what I’m supposed to call the Pharaoh if ‘sir’ is too familiar,” Dean groused.

           “You Romans. You’re irreverent towards everything,” Garth sighed. “The Pharaoh is a king. A god-king, if you believe what the Egyptians do. An immortal among men, blessed by their pantheon. You address him as His Majesty Ptolemy Alexander, fourth bearer of his name, King of Kings, Pharaoh of the Egyptian Empire.”

          “I am _not_ saying that whole thing if I need to get his attention,” Dean spluttered. What kind of arrogant prick was he being sent to?

          “No, I imagine you’ll say ‘my lord Pharaoh’,” Garth replied with a grin. Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes. Garth’s sense of humor, though Dean grudgingly had to admit it was amusing, had terrible timing.

          “Is there anything else I should know?” Dean asked. Garth raised and dropped a shoulder, this time a picture of seriousness.

          “You’re being sent as a guard for him and we will arrive in a night. I don’t know how this Pharaoh regulates his personal guard. Not even the Egyptian merchants seem to know. I know he doesn’t have a queen or a harem, so you’ll likely be assigned to him or one of his nobles,” Garth replied.

        “If he already has a retinue of guards, why does he want one from Rome? Crassus told me the Pharaoh was offered our best pleasure slaves as well as some legionnaires,” Dean muttered, more to himself, but Garth replied anyway.

        “Probably had little to do with his preference. Crassus probably just wanted to split up the Praetorian Guard to head off an uprising. You fellows are quite known for that, aren’t you? I wonder why the Consulate keeps you employed,” Garth mused. Dean turned to him, incensed, and fiercely gripped the hilt of his gladius.

        “How dare you question my loyalty to Rome. The Praetorian Guard has sworn to protect the Senate and the Consulate, and that is what we will do to our very last breath,” Dean growled.

        “And now you will guard the Pharaoh till your last,” Garth said, “lest--”

        “Unless he makes a show of aggression against Rome,” Dean interrupted, “then I kill the son of a bitch. I remember, you don’t have to tell me my orders.”

        “I’m sorry,” Garth said, a little meekly, “but to answer your question, no one knows why the Pharaoh requested a fine guard instead of a fine slave or soldiers. There is a rumor...but it’s only a rumor. It’ll do no good putting you ill at ease with your new master.”

        “What rumors?” Dean asked sharply.

        “Oh, it’s nothing. Really,” Garth said when Dean gave him a skeptical look, “just sailors’ tales. It doesn’t matter anyway. With the way the ship’s going, we’ll reach Alexandria by tomorrow.” With that, Garth left Dean on the prow, heading back, no doubt, to rejoin a game with the rowing slaves in the lower decks. Dean gazed out once again over the endless sea. Somewhere on the other side was Alexandria, and a terribly powerful unknown. Dean missed Sam. But Sam was safely back in Rome, enjoying his studies. And if Dean did his job right, that’s how it would stay.

 

 

     Alexandria was was a sight to behold. With its towering lighthouse, a grand pillar of hope to ships, luxuriously large marble buildings, and wide, neatly-kept dirt roads all leading up to the grand palace at the center of the city. The home of the Pharaoh and Dean’s new home. The trireme effortlessly glided to port, making Dean exceedingly proud. The Egyptians may have been renowned sailors, but nothing on the sea could beat a Roman trireme. The boat docked and Dean, wearing his best toga virilis and carrying the Praetorian standard, stepped on to solid land for the first time in a little over two weeks.

       The Egyptian air was dry and oppressively hot. His wool toga quickly became sodden with sweat about his underarms. How could people _live_ like this, Dean wondered. And he had thought Rome was sweltering in the summer.

      A man approached him. He wore nothing but a linen loincloth that Dean eyed jealousy. He would need to rethink his wardrobe if these temperatures were to last.

       “Iohannes Dean of Rome?” The man asked in heavily accented Latin.

        “Yes,” Dean answered. His Egyptian was nonexistent and his Greek was poor. His nerves skyrocketed. There would be a lot to learn.

        “You come with me. His Majesty demands your presence,” he said. The man began to stride away but Dean remained rooted to the spot. He took orders from no one, save the Consulate and now the Pharaoh. He didn’t even know this man.

       “Who are you?” Dean asked. He crossed his arms stubbornly.

         “I am Inias. I’m the royal cortier and it is my duty to deliver you to His Majesty, come _on_ ,” he huffed. Dean looked at Inias more closely. He was a man, but barely.

         “And what about my things?” Dean asked.

         “The palace slaves will come and collect them for you. Now, _come_. His Majesty isn’t used to being kept waiting.” Dean finally relented and followed Inias to a chariot made of gold. Tied to it were four of the finest horses Dean had ever seen. They were black, all of them, and lathered in sweat. Dean gave the nearest one a sympathetic pat on the rump and he climbed on the chariot beside Inias. Inias snapped the reins and the horses tore off in the direction of the place.

       Alexandria whipped by in a blur. Dean could smell strange spices and oils, but nothing made a cohesive picture as he charged by. The horses’ hooves and the wheels of the chariot kicked up large clouds of dust that made Dean’s eyes water and further enshrouded the city he was bolting through. Wind slapped Dean in the face, but it also worked to cool him slightly, and for that he was grateful, though the sun still beat harshly down on him from above. After several minutes, Inias brought the horses down to a walk and they passed through the palace gates.

     The palace itself was magnificent, even greater than the home of the richest senator in Rome. Lush vegetation was being hand tended by servants and the building itself was beyond massive and of gleaming white marble that seemed to glitter in the midday sun. Now that they had slowed down again, Dean was hit full force with with the sweltering heat. Inias brought the horses to a stop near a fountain and Dean leapt off the chariot to splash some water on his face. It was blessedly cool.

      “Thank Jove,” Dean muttered.

      “You look awful, and you smell from the sea,” Inias said suddenly, seemingly materializing beside Dean, “but it will have to do. His Majesty has already been kept waiting for far too long. Come with me.” Inias strode off again and Dean had to jog to to catch up with him. He lead Dean in through the front doors of the palace and once again, Dean was struck by the immediate coolness. Perhaps the stone regulated the temperature? In any case, Dean was grateful for the reprieve.

     They walked down a long hall that ended in another set of doors. Inias knocked on it. The doors swung open to reveal an incredible throne room. Dean dipped his head, as Garth had taught him to do. A herald cried,

      “His Majesty Ptolemy Alexander, fourth bearer of his name, King of Kings, Pharaoh of the Egyptian Empire extends his welcome.” Dean entered the throne room, head bowed, then knelt on a pathway of lapis lazuli and pressed his head to the stones.

       “My lord Pharaoh, I am Iohannes Dean of Rome. I have come to serve and guard you till my last breath,” Dean said in Greek. He’d rehearsed this moment many times with Garth.

       “Rise,” said a gravelly voice in perfect Latin. Dean did as he was told, standing up and looking at the pharaoh for the first time. He, too, only wore a linen loincloth. His eyes drew Dean’s attention. They were thickly lined with kohl and eye paints. Dean was aghast. Only whores wore them in Rome. The man looked straight out of a lupanaria. Just as attention-grabbing as the best lupa in Rome’s red district.

      Then, making Dean’s heart nearly pound out of his chest, the lioness, collared, muscular, and deadly, that had been lounging at the Pharaoh’s feet made a throaty sound, halfway between a growl and a purr. She was clearly well kept. She looked nothing like the lionesses Dean had seen fight gladiators. This one was much larger and much more dangerous. Her eyes were astonishingly odd, colored a beatific green of the hills in Italy. The Pharaoh’s eyes were a stark blue and mirrored the lioness’s in intensity.

      

    “So you are my Roman Guard. Do you prefer Iohannes or Dean?” The Pharaoh asked.

        “Iohannes was my father, my lord,” Dean replied, “I would prefer Dean.” Garth had told him to answer all direct questions briefly and straightforwardly.

        “Dean you shall be. I’ve been awaiting our first meeting. You seem in good condition, Dean,” said the Pharaoh.

          “Thank you, my lord,” Dean said, still eyeing the lioness warily. A smile curled the corners of the Pharaoh’s mouth upward.

          “Pay Samira no mind. She’s as tame as a housecat,” the Pharaoh said knowingly.

          “I’ve never met a particularly tame housecat,” Dean shot back before he could stop himself. The Pharaoh’s smile widened. Dean was bewildered. He’d expected an immediate reprimand. Not even the lowest senator would accept such cheek from a guard.

         “Your consul, Crassus, assured me he was sending me the head of the most elite guardsman in Rome. The very best guard Rome has to offer. Do you agree with his assessment?” The Pharaoh asked.

          “Consul Crassus honors me with his praise. I hope I am the best in Rome, but I can’t be sure,” Dean replied honestly.

          “Well, I expect any good faith gift from such a strong neighbor will be excellent. Even if the gift cannot see his own worth, I can. Sekhmet herself has sent you to me, I can see it in your eyes,” said the Pharaoh. “You will be the head of my personal guard, Dean.” Dean dipped his head.

         “Thank you, my lord.”

          “As your first order of duty, you will guard me as I go to see the high priestess and conviene with the gods, then I will personally see to it that you are comfortable in your new home.” The Pharaoh rose and stepped off his throne. The lioness—Samira— rose as well and paced by her master’s side. Staff in hand, the Pharaoh began toward the door. Dean hurried to fall in step just behind him, slipping into his role as a guard as a duck took to water. The Pharaoh still wore the ghost of a smile when Dean came up behind him. Mentally, Dean shook his head. He was in for quite a change.  

 

           

       


	2. Chapter 2

    It was easy for Dean to slip into a guardian mindset. He walked behind important men every day, shoulders straight, expression haughty, and a little menace in the way his hand rested on the pommel of his gladius. In fact, this day was no stranger than any other day, if Dean refused to acknowledge that his charge was richer and possibly more powerful than any man he had guarded before…and that this man was painted like a whore. 

     The Pharaoh walked confidently through the labyrinth of the palace, and Dean felt hyper aware. In Rome, he was expected to know every entrance and exit of every place he was to guard. Nothing breathed but Dean knew of it. Here, he had to rely upon all his senses, and, Dean thought worriedly, they may not be fast enough to stop an assassin if they used a bow. 

     But the Pharaoh kept up a careless pace. The lioness trotted happily at his side and Dean watched her too. She would likely detect a threat before Dean and she could very well be a threat herself. Her paws were the size of Dean’s head, not to mention the claws they hid. Dean shuddered to himself. This was absurd. He was guarding a man with a lion stalking by his side. God, he missed Rome. He missed  _ Sam _ .

      Soon, though Dean was not sure how soon, as the twisting halls made him lose some sense of time, they came to an anti chamber. The Pharaoh paused. 

      “You may not enter the chamber with me. Stay out here,” he said, his voice low and grating. Dean balked. He was supposed to guard the Pharaoh! There should be nowhere Dean couldn’t go. 

       “Why not?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice low and respectful. “My lord Pharaoh.” He tacked on as an afterthought. The Pharaoh looked over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow at him. Dean felt himself shrink under the stare. The man had lion eyes, blue as Jupiter’s thunderbolts.

       “Your toga is wool,” the Pharaoh answered in a monotone, “the gods don’t permit hides in their temples, and in any case, they only wish to speak among their own. Guard me from out here.” Dean narrowed his eyes. He was used to taking orders, but if the Pharaoh of Egypt died on his watch, there would be more than pain to pay.

       “My lord, I wouldn’t have you die on my guard.” Dean was failing to keep his voice level. Anger seeped in through the edges. 

        “Dean.” The Pharaoh turned to stand facing him. They were nose tip to nose tip. The Pharaoh was barely a breath shorter than Dean. “Do you consider yourself Egyptian already? Have the sands severed all ties with Rome?” The question bewildered Dean. What did his loyalties have to do with anything?

         “I am Roman, my lord,” Dean replied warily. The Pharaoh nodded sharply, once. His wig brushed against Dean’s cheeks. 

        “Then your concern for my safety has more to do with saving your own ass. I assure you, nothing will happen to you or I while I convene with the gods. Egyptians are not so treacherous as Romans,” the Pharaoh said, his breath scudding warmly across Dean’s face. The Pharaoh seemed...disappointed. It was an odd mood and Dean couldn’t fathom why the Pharaoh was giving him that impression. In any case, having the Pharaoh so close made Dean uncomfortable in ways he didn’t understand, which disquieted him further. He took a step back. The Pharaoh did the same, then turned and stepped into the temple. 

      The lioness did not follow him, instead choosing to lay down across the barrier into the chamber. She yawned languidly. Dean hurriedly went to stand by her backside. ‘No need to put yourself in easy biting distance of a lion’ had quickly become one of Dean’s most important inner mantras. The lioness was not aware of it, though, because she flipped around and pressed her massive head to Dean’s calf. Dean stiffened immediately. The lioness rasped her rough tongue over his leg.

    “Hey,” Dean hissed at her. She simply flicked an ear and continued to lap at his leg. Dean felt his pulse skyrocket. He tried to steady his breathing. Lions liked the chase. The smartest gladiators always held their ground, because even a starving beast was a slave to its instincts. Dean held stock still as the lioness stopped her licking and nuzzled him before dropping her head to his foot. His heart sank. The lioness had made him useless as a guard. He could no more move than if he was a statue. Dean swallowed his fear and squared his shoulders anyway, and lifted his chin. Perhaps he could use this situation to his advantage. He was the Roman with a lion sleeping on his feet. He  _ dared _ someone to come for the Pharaoh. 

     After what felt like hours, the lioness raised her head. She leapt onto her haunches, and once again startled Dean with her size. Her head reached well past his hip. She lashed her tail and pinned her ears back. Dean took a cue from her and slid his gladius from its sheath. A man in a loincloth carrying an odd curved blade rounded the corner and the lioness growled fiercely. Dean adjusted his stance and lifted his sword in warning.

     “Go away. The Pharaoh is speaking with the gods,” Dean said harshly. 

     “ _ You’re  _ the Roman,” the man said, an apologetic smile spreading across his face. “I’m Cole. I’m going to be made head of the Pharaoh’s guard, so I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He tried to take a further step into the antichamber, but the lioness bared her cruel teeth and growled again, making him pause.

      “His Majesty has asked me to make sure no one disturbs him,” Dean said coldly. Not exactly true, but Dean couldn’t imagine the Pharaoh wanting to see someone who caused such a violent temper in his lion. 

       “He’ll want to be disturbed by me,” Cole insisted, smile turning slightly unpleasant. The lioness rose to stand threateningly. Dean didn’t lower his sword. 

      “Oh?”

      “Samira has never liked me. Don’t take all your cues from her, she’s just his pet beast,” Cole said, his friendly demeanor waning. 

      “I’m not moving till I’ve been told different by His Majesty himself,” Dean said stubbornly.  Something about Cole made his skin crawl. 

        “Cole?” The Pharaoh’s voice came from behind Dean. Dean didn’t turn and he didn’t lower his sword. 

        “My lord,” Cole said. Oh, Jove, he  _ winked _ . Dean shuddered. What was this idiot playing at?

        “I see you’ve met Dean,” The Pharaoh said, his voice flat and cold. Dean felt gratified by the Pharaoh’s tone.

       “My lord, I was coming to speak to speak to you  _ privately _ ,” Cole said with a meaningful glance at Dean. The lioness rumbled in her chest.

       “There will be no need for that,” the Pharaoh said in the same unfeeling tone, “Dean will be your new head of my guard. He’ll give you all your orders, and should you need something that only I can grant, he has my ear. Come now, Dean, I promised I would show you your new home.” The Pharaoh stepped around Dean and walked briskly past Cole. Dean had to take a few jogging steps to catch up with him. The lioness trailed them both, giving Cole one last ferocious snarl for good measure. As she caught up with Dean, she slammed the weight of her body into his legs, making him stumble, then did the same to the Pharaoh. The Pharaoh gave him a queer look.

      “Samira seems to like you,” he said. Dean shrugged

     “I’ve never been much for animals,” he said, which was only a partial lie.

     “Well, you’re good with her,” the Pharaoh said firmly. The corners of his eyes crinkled with the hint of a smile. “I’ll take you to the kitchens first. Tomorrow we shall feast to honor the gods for granting your safe travel, but I imagine you must be hungry after only eating rations on the sea.” Dean’s stomach growled, as if on cue. The Pharaoh chuckled softly. Dean’s face burned.

     “Pardon me, my lord,” Dean mumbled. The Pharaoh guided him through the cavernous palace that Dean was beginning to feel he would never be able to navigate. Somewhere, the lioness left them to sleep in a corridor. Eventually, they entered a kitchen that was not too dissimilar from the ones Dean had seen in the Senators’ houses in Rome.

       “Cassie! And here I thought you’d forgotten me!” A short man bounded over. Dean was once again bewildered. The man was a kitchen slave. How could he be so familiar with the Pharaoh and why, then, did  _ Dean _ have to be so careful with titles? 

        “Hello, Gabriel,” the Pharaoh said with a smile. 

        “Oh, Cas, bringing me a new boy? You shouldn’t have! He’s already  _ so _ much better than the rest,” the slave—Gabriel—cooed with a lecherous smirk in Dean’s direction. 

       “Gabriel,” the Pharaoh said again, with a warning note in his voice. 

       “ _ Fine _ ,” Gabriel huffed dramatically, “well, what can I do for the esteemed Pharaoh and his guest?”

       “Dean, this is Gabriel. He’s my personal chef, the finest in Egypt and beyond,” the Pharaoh said. Dean was unused to being introduced to slaves and was unsure of the protocol. 

       “Hello,” Dean said uncertainly.

      “Aw, bless him,” said Gabriel warmly, “he doesn’t know what to do with me.”

      “Romans are conquerors,” the Pharaoh replied, “They probably have teams and teams of slaves, they can’t know all their names.” Dean flushed. It was true.

      “I’m not a slave,” Gabriel said primly.

      “A freedman, then?” Dean asked before he could stop himself. Gabriel laughed delightedly.

     “How very Roman of you,” the Pharaoh said with a smile. Dean furrowed his brow. Was the Pharaoh making fun of him?

     “He means you’re blunt, don’t you, Cassie? Is that really what you call them in Rome?”

     “Yes,” Dean said a little defensively. “Normally freedmen are eager to get away from their former masters. How was I to know you weren’t a slave?”

       “He was never my slave,” the Pharaoh said, clearly insulted. “He was my father’s.”

       “My parents sold me when times got tough and the most powerful man in the world came knocking,” Gabriel explained. “Cassie and I were playmates when ol’ Ptolemy the third wasn’t watching.”

     “You allow your freedmen servants to talk about you and your father like that, my lord?” Dean demanded. What world of hypocrisy had he stepped into? Why were guards less familiar with the Pharaoh than the servants? And freedmen servants no less? In Rome, Gabriel would have been flogged with cat ‘o nines for such insolence. 

      “Gabriel is employed by me, yes,” the Pharaoh said evenly, “but we were childhood playmates. I am always Pharaoh. I am always the kin of Amen-Ra, and god king upon this earth. It doesn’t matter what Gabriel calls me. It’s a nickname from when we were boys.”

        “Hey!” Gabriel said, “you love it.” He turned to Dean. “He’s Castiel, after an angel in my religion.”

         “I do,” the Pharaoh agreed, “now feed my guard, Gabriel, so that I may show him to the baths and his chambers that he may have a proper rest.”

        “Thank you, my lord,” Dean said.

         Gabriel, as it turned out, deserved every ounce of praise from the Pharaoh. The stuffed dates he had created for Dean were an incredible delicacy that Dean already knew he would learn to crave. The Pharaoh then showed Dean the baths, which were done in the Greek style, offering both hot and cold pools, as well as servants to coat the bathers in sweet smelling oils. 

       “Your chambers are close to mine, should I need a guard in the night,” the Pharaoh explained, “a servant will show to them. I have business to attend to for now. Please, enjoy my baths and relax. I’ll summon other guards while you enjoy yourself.”

       “Thank you, my lord,” Dean said with a bow. A servant bustled over to help Dean remove his toga. The Pharaoh averted his eyes. Odd, Dean thought. Most Egyptians he had seen were at least mostly in the nude. He wouldn’t have taken the Pharaoh as being prudish. 

        “Dean,” the Pharaoh said, a note of hesitation in his voice, “will you join me in my chamber this evening?” 

        “Yes, my lord,” Dean replied easily. He was well used to guarding at night and keeping confidences. It was all in a day’s work. 

       “Thank you,” the Pharaoh said, and walked out of the baths. Dean allowed himself to sink into the full luxury of Egyptian hospitality. 

     Servants covered him in oil and scraped it away, and allowed him to soak, first in the hot pool, which was lovely in spite of the warmth of Egypt, and then the cool one, which soothed Dean’s skin and refreshed him. The servants gave Dean a linen loincloth, as his own toga had been soiled by sweat, and Dean, feeling much cooler, had a servant lead him to his chambers. The same servant returned Dean’s gladius and Dean was delighted to find that slaves had brought his personal belongings to his chamber already. He fell upon his bed, which was covered with Egyptian linens, and promptly fell asleep. 

      Dean awoke again when the moon had risen. His body was coated in a cold sweat. 

    “It’s just a dream,” he muttered to himself as he paced around his chamber to dry his skin and soothe the shakes. He refreshed the loincloth around his waist. Then he remembered his appointment with the Pharaoh and had to summon a servant to take him to the Pharaoh’s chambers. 

      “I wasn’t sure you would come,” the Pharaoh said as Dean prostrated himself on the floor. Dean rose. 

      “Apologies, my lord. I fell asleep and lost track of time.”

       “I’m sure you were tired,” the Pharaoh stepped closer and gently grasped Dean’s wrist, leading him into the room. Several torches cast a warm light about everything. The Pharaoh seemed tall and ethereal in the firelight. His lion eyes gleamed. Dean was oddly entranced. 

       “What did you want me here for, my lord?” Dean asked, trying to shake himself away from his reverie. 

       “I was certain my reputation would precede me,” the Pharaoh said. “I’m sure you noticed my lack of a queen.”

       “I don’t mean to pry, my lord,” Dean said quickly. 

      “You’re not prying if I’m asking you to see,” the Pharaoh said. 

      “Why have you not chosen a queen?” Dean asked uneasily. 

       “I’m not particularly fond of women in my bed,” the Pharaoh said matter-of-factly, as though he had been waiting for the Dean’s question all night. “And you, Dean, are quite a handsome man.”

       “My lord?” Dean asked. His heart pounded against his ribs. 

       “Would you consent to becoming intimate with me?” The Pharaoh asked. 

       “What would happen if I say no?” Dean shot back immediately. His mind was reeling. He had never been with a man. Only women. Would the Pharaoh become angry if he refused? Was he even considering this?

        “You would return to your chamber and we would try to overcome this misunderstanding,” the Pharaoh said simply, “I have power, Dean, but I’m not a pig. I will have your consent before anything happens, and you can always withdraw it. My power only grants me the right to inquire when a man such as yourself crosses my path.”

     “My lord I…” Dean paused. He was supposed to understand the Pharaoh for the benefit of Rome. Weren’t men most loose with their tongue in the throes of passion? If the Pharaoh posed a threat, he would tell Dean if Dean gained his trust in this way. Orgasms were fun no matter what. Dean could do this. No one in Rome would have to know of any buggery. 

      “I consent, my lord,” Dean said. His heart still pounded against his chest.  _ He could do this _ . Could he?

      “You’re sure?” The Pharaoh asked. “Saying no will bring you no harm.”

      “I’m sure,” Dean said, firmly meeting the Pharaoh’s eye. This was for Rome. This was to keep Sam safe.

       “Then when we are alone, call me Castiel,” the Pharaoh said. 

       “Castiel?” Dean asked startledly.

       “Gabriel gave me the name when we were boys. Ptolemy was my father and there have been many Alexanders. Castiel is a name of my own, and I would have my bed partner cry for only me,” the Pharaoh explained. 

      “What would you have me do, Castiel? I’m...inexperienced with men,” Dean said. 

       “Would you consent to touching yourself and allowing me to watch?” The Pharaoh—Castiel—asked. 

      “Yes, my—Castiel,” Dean said. He went to sit on Castiel’s bed, and carefully removed his loincloth before reaching giving his cock a squeeze. 

     “May I kiss you, Dean?” Castiel asked. 

     “Yes,” Dean agreed and Castiel surged forward to meet his lips. Kissing Castiel was different. His lips were plush and soft as a woman’s, but the roughness of his stubble didn’t let Dean forget that he was a man. Dean slid his tongue into Castiel’s mouth unbidden, and Castiel gave a soft, broken moan that made Dean’s cock swell into his hand. Startled by his body’s response to such a sound from a man’s throat, he stroked himself hurriedly, bringing his cock to full hardness. No need to make this last longer than it had to. 

     Castiel pulled away, looking wild, pupils blown wide and lips kiss swollen. 

      “Let me watch,” he all but begged, and dragged his eyes to where Dean tugged in his cock. Castiel’s erection was obvious in the thin loincloth. Dean, inexplicably aroused and terrified by it, thumbed the head of his cock and reached another hand to toy with his balls. He couldn’t stop the sharp breath that left his lungs as he touched himself. Castiel watched him greedily, and somehow, that made Dean harder. The fact that a god-king with his blue lion eyes watched him as if he were the only thing in the world was arousing and thrilling and horrifying and the feelings mixed into heat that pooled in Dean’s groin far too quickly. 

      Unexpectedly, Castiel touched Dean’s knee. Dean came with a shout, shooting sticky-hot strings of white all over himself. Castiel groaned and dropped his head to Dean’s knee. Castiel was trembling. He removed his own come-sodden loincloth and used it to wipe Dean clean, gently, reverently, then tossed the linen aside. Dean felt pride that he’d made the Pharaoh come untouched before he remembered he was supposed to love only women. 

       “Thank you, Castiel,” Dean said, through shuddering breaths.

       “I should be thanking you,” Castiel replied. His skin was interestingly blush dappled, just like Dean’s.

       “I hate to ruin the moment, but if I could return to my room? I need to gather myself,” Dean said. Castiel looked disappointed, but he nodded. 

       “Of course. I’ll see you in the morning, Dean,” he said. 

       “Goodnight,” Dean said before he got up on shaky legs and stumbled out of Castiel’s chamber and managed to find his own. Dean flopped down once again on his bed and sighed. Simply because they fucked didn’t give Castiel a right to see Dean vulnerable. His dreams, horrific or otherwise, were his own. Post-orgasm sleepiness tugged Dean back unconscious, leaving him to fight his nightmares alone. 


	3. Chapter 3

   The next morning, Dean awoke with the sun. He stretched and relieved himself in a fine clay chamber pot. The heat was already rivaled Vulcan himself, but Dean needed to make sure all the guards he lead were in tip top shape. Part of the bargain that secured his position here was keeping the Pharaoh  _ alive _ , and Dean couldn’t damn well keep him so if he didn’t know the quality of the men beneath him. 

    Dean shook his head as he thought of the Pharaoh. Last night had been...revealing to say the least. Dean’s mind was still reeling. He’d been intimate with a man. One of the most powerful men in the world had watched him jerk his cock, and in some way Dean had  _ liked  _ it. Dean had always considered sex one of his vices, but this was new and different and something that made Dean’s cock twitch, even as he donned a loincloth and tied the scabbard for his gladius around his hips. What was wrong with him? He shook his body once to rid his mind of such thought. Now was not the time. He had a job to do. As he left his chamber, he found a servant scuttling across the hall to complete some task. Dean stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.

     “Take me to the practice fields and then summon all the Pharaoh’s guards that can be spared to me,” Dean commanded. The servant nodded quickly.

     “Yes, my lord,” the servant dipped his head and and immediately set about taking Dean to the practice fields. Dean, for his part, was startled. He’d never been called ‘my lord’ by anyone. He’d only barely outranked servants in Rome. He had much to get used to. 

    The practice fields were large and absolutely sunbaked, though there were shade cloths drawn over the whole thing in a feat of engineering that would absolutely thrill Sam. Perspiration already beaded at Dean’s forehead. He’d need to be careful, lest he overheat and embarrass himself in front of the men he was supposed to lead. Soon, a file over men with odd curved blades and kohl around their eyes entered the training arena. There were so many of them, it had to be the whole guard. Dean’s temper soured. The Pharaoh should never be left to fend for himself, no matter what Dean said, safety of Castiel was paramount. 

      Dean needn’t have worried. In the viewing stands, Castiel sat down, Samira at her customary place at his feet. Two servants fanned the heat away from him. He was too far away for Dean to see his lion eyes, but Dean knew that he had the Pharaoh’s attention. His shoulders bunched under the scrutiny. He didn’t know if he wanted Castiel to get lost or come nearer. Either way, it was distracting. The man had seen his  _ cock _ last night, for Jove’s sake! Venus herself must have been laughing at him. Dean mentally shook himself. He needed to act like the prefect he was.

    The guards stood in a neat couple of rows before him. Dean gave them each a hard once over. They were all finely shaped young men, each carrying those curved blades, which was a little jarring. In Rome, only prefects could carry weapons. Dean cursed his lack of Egyptian knowledge. 

     Cole was among the ones that stood directly in Dean’s line of sight. He glowered. Dean remained unflinching. They’d both fucked around with the Pharaoh. Shouldn’t that at least make civility a possibility? Either way, Dean was Cole’s superior and would act as such.

        “I am Iohannes Dean of Rome,” Dean said to the men. He forced himself not to glance at the place where Castiel sat. “I am to lead you all in guarding His Majesty.” At this, Dean bowed deeply to Castiel. He was too far away for Dean to get a good read on his countenance. No matter. Dean turned back to the guards. “Today we will spar, so I can get to know you and you can have some practice, which I trust none of you will object to.”

     Cole whispered something in Egyptian to a man standing next to him. They both stole glances at Dean and sniggered wildly. Dean narrowed his eyes and flattened his mouth into a hard line. He pulled his gladius from its sheath. 

     “Shall we pair off and begin?” He asked harshly. Cole and his friend continued to jeer in Egyptian and mirth bubbled in both their eyes. Dean ignored them. He was a Praetorian Guard. Rumors, and lies, and gossip were nothing new. A blond man came up to Dean and extended a hand. 

       “Partners, sir?” He asked with a lazy smile. His Latin was good, but accented. Dean clasped his hand and stepped back. He raised his gladius and got into a fighting stance. 

       “What’s your name?” Dean asked. The man raised his curved blade. Around them, the other guards began to spar. 

       “Balthazar. I was lieutenant to the last head of guard,” the man said. He swung unexpectedly and Dean parried. Their blades clanged fiercely. 

      “I don’t have a practice blade,” Dean warned as Balthazar struck again and Dean met it. Balthazar grinned. 

       “Neither do I.” He was a skilled fighter and an excellent sparring partner and Dean soon found himself happily lathered in sweat. Over Balthazar’s head, Castiel still watched. Dean wondered if he got off on seeing all these young and sculpted men strengthen themselves.  _ Whore _ , Dean thought venomously, though he didn’t understand his anger. 

       “Balthazar…” Dean began. Their blades hissed together. 

       “I take it our esteemed Pharaoh has taken an interest in you?” Balthazar asked with a smile that was a little too knowing. Dean’s ears burned.

       “Yes,” he said, his words coming out choked. His next swing was more vicious than strictly necessary. Balthazar blocked it and tried to twist Dean’s gladius out of his hands. Dean withdrew his sword with a screech of metal.

      “If it helps, he does that with everyone. His attention may wane,” Balthazar said, “it’s the Greek in him.”

       “Has he...had  _ relations  _ with you?” Dean asked.

        “Oh, yes,” Balthazar purred as he slashed the air in front of Dean. “It was great fun. I suppose that’s the Greek in me.”

      “In Rome we don’t…it’s forbidden,” Dean said. He feigned left then swung. Balthazar met his blade, but only barely. “Superiors are off limits.”

      “Well, you’re in Egypt now,” Balthazar said, “and here the Pharaoh takes what he wants. We are all his birthright.” Dean lowered his gladius and Balthazar did the same with his blade. Both their chests were heaving. Balthazar reached  for Dean’s hand and dragged him in to bump their chests together. Dean was grinning as the high of a good spar worked through his veins. Mars was with him today. 

      “Thank you,” Dean said through pants. Balthazar grinned right back at him. 

      “My pleasure. You don’t speak Egyptian do you?” He asked. Dean shook his head. 

      “There’s only Latin in Rome,” Dean said defensively. 

       “If I were you, I’d make myself a quick study. They won’t make fun if they think you can understand them,” Balthazar said. 

      “What was Cole saying?” Dean asked against his better judgement. Thankfully their conversation was swallowed by the sounds of blades clanging and men grunting. Balthazar smiled. 

       “Something about your cock being small,” Balthazar said, “creative they are not.”

       “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind passing a little Egyptian and Greek along?” Dean asked. Mutiny, no matter how small, needed to be watched. It could destroy everything Dean was trying to do.

     “Of course,” Balthazar replied.

     “How would you like to be my second?” Dean asked. Balthazar wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders and sidled right up against him. Dean stiffened. Balthazar kissed his cheek.

     “Nothing would make me happier, darling,” Balthazar rumbled against Dean’s neck. He pulled away and tried and failed to keep laughter from his eyes. Dean was sure he looked stricken. He took a deep breath and tried to soften his features into a grin.

    “I suppose that’s the Greek in you as well?” Dean asked.

    “Oh, we’ll get along famously,” Balthazar proclaimed. Suddenly, a hush fell over the fighting men. Dean looked over Balthazar’s shoulder, always alert to changes. Castiel had vacated his seat and had come down onto the practice field. The men dropped to their knees and bowed at his approach. His face was flat, but Dean could alway pick rage out on any face. Castiel’s mouth was thinned and his eyes were ablaze. He and Balthazar dropped to their knees.

      “It seems my head of guard needs a better challenge than you are, Balthazar,” Castiel said, his voice tight.

         “Yes, my lord,” Balthazar agreed readily. He didn’t lift his eyes.

         “Fetch my kopesh,” Castiel commanded.

        “Yes, my lord.” Balthazar kept his head bent until he stood up and scurried away.

        “As for the rest of you, keep sparring. Your leader has not asked you to stop and nor did I,” Castiel barked. There was a chorus of “yes, my lord” and the arena was once again filled with the sound of men fighting. 

      “My lord?” Dean asked hesitantly. There was no telling what Castiel wanted or what he would do in anger.

     “Rise,” Castiel said, his voice still angry. Dean rose. “You will spar with me.” At that moment, Balthazar returned with two beautifully ornate curved blades, the same that the rest of the guard carried. Kopesh, Castiel had called them. Castiel took them both and gave them an easy swing. He took a stance. Balthazar sent Dean an apologetic look and got out of the way. Dean raised his gladius.

     “My lord, I don’t have a training blade,” Dean said again in warning. Castiel grinned.

     “Nor do I. I hope for your sake you are very fast.” With that, he swung both blades. Dean could only just move his blade quick enough to block them. Castiel spun away quickly and staggered his strikes. Dean danced away, but he was getting in no strikes of his own. He could only just manage to keep Castiel’s assault away. A man as skilled as he was surely needed no guards, Dean thought. Why send for one from Rome? To fuck? Dean ducked away from a blade that Castiel swung over his head and block the other that sought to slash his stomach. Whore-king, more than god king, this Pharaoh, Dean thought bitterly. 

     “Do I not have your consent, Dean?” Castiel asked suddenly. Dean shoved both blades away.

      “Yes, my lord,” he answered. He was still hopeful this kind of favor from Castiel could be useful to Rome. 

      “Then I ask you not to dally,” Castiel snapped. Dean almost laughed. He was jealous of Balthazar? After he had come to leer at all the other men? Unexplainable anger welled up in Dean.

     “Whore,” Dean spat. Castiel paused for a beat. 

     “ _ What did you say to me _ ?” Castiel’s voice shook with his fury. Dean’s own didn’t subside.

     “Look at you. Covered in paints like the best lupa in Rome, looking down at all the men, just like a she-wolf looking for a piece of ass,” Dean taunted angrily. Castiel knocked the gladius out of Dean’s hand and crossed the kopesh over Dean’s chest. They both panted angry huffs of breath. Castiel’s eyes were slits. 

        “If you still consent, go to my chamber.  _ Now _ ,” Castiel growled. Dean has no choice but to bow mutley and obey. The guards stopped sparring behind him, no doubt on a direct order from Castiel. Cursing his name, Dean picked through the halls of the palace before stumbling into Castiel’s rooms to wait. Castiel was not far behind. His sweat shone gloriously on his skin and he carried several bolts of gold silk that were no doubt worth more than Dean himself was. 

      “My lord,” Dean dropped to his knees in a bow. 

       “Stand,” Castiel growled. “And I told you not to call me that.” Dean scrambled to do what he was told. His heart sank as he remembered his insolence. He was still angry, but such cheek could get him killed. Castiel began winding the silks around Dean’s chest, binding his hands and finally removed his loincloth. The soft touches had been enough to give Dean a half erection. Castiel looked at it with a softness in his eyes. They hardened before he looked as Dean. He reached up and ran gentle fingers through Dean’s hair then gripped it tightly and dragged Dean in for a wild kissing, all careless death and probing tongue. Castiel pulled back and Dean had to wonder what just happened to him.

     “Castiel,” Dean said, completely unsure of what to do. 

       “Your mouth is what got you into trouble Dean. Let the punishment fit the crime,” Cas replied. With the final bolt of silk, he gagged Dean. Dean’s heart began to pound. He could get any word out? What if something went wrong? What if Castiel…

       “Make any indication of discomfort and I’ll stop,” Castiel promised as though he heard Dean’s thoughts. “I know I’m calling it a punishment but this should be enjoyable. Now. Lie down on my bed.” Dean obey carefully, his bound hands making the process difficult. Castiel went and got a pot of oil from a desk. He approached Dean slowly, and Dean had the distinct feeling of an antelope being stalked by a lion. His cock was fully hard and curving up toward his belly. It seemed his body and mind were in disagreement. Dean was completely torn on what to do. 

      “I’ve never had a Roman before. Did you know that? You’re the first Roman I’ve ever met,” Castiel said conversationally. He crept gracefully on the bed between Dean’s knees. He bent down and kissed each of Dean’s nipples, then laved his tongue down to Dean’s navel. “You’re beautiful, Dean. Even with your gods-damned  _ mouth _ . Spitfire, you are.” Castiel nuzzled Dean’s pubic hair. Dean’s heart thudded. This was starting to seem less like casual, powerful sex. Castiel sounded like he almost had the first flutterings of feelings for Dean. Which was impossible. Dean was nothing special. And he didn’t even like Castiel back. He was just playing along. Right? His cock twitched happily and a moan rose from his throat when Castiel licked a long stripe over his cock.  _ Traitor _ , Dean admonished his body. Castiel reached for the oil, gathered some, and slipped two slick fingers down to stroke Dean’s asshole. Dean tensed. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t  _ ready. _

     “Shall I stop?” Castiel rested a soothing hand on Dean’s stomach. Dean shook his head slowly. He could do this. He had to do this. For Rome and for Sam. Castiel modded wordlessly and pressed a single finger into Dean’s hole. Dean bucked his hips and whined. He felt suddenly and uncomfortably full. Castiel kissed his thigh. “ _ Shhh _ ,” he murmured, “you’re safe with me.” He added and second finger and began to gently coax the ring of muscles around Dean’s hope to relax. He curled his fingers and the results were electric. Pleasure filled Dean dizzyingly quickly. He moaned behind the gag and pressed back onto Castiel’s fingers. Castiel smirked.

     “That’s it,” he cooed. He added a third finger, then a fourth. All Dean could do was wriggle and sweat and moan. It was so good. He felt full and happy to be so. If this was sex with men, perhaps Dean had been missing out. Then Castiel withdrew his fingers. Dean cried at the emptiness and the  _ frustration _ . He’d been getting there. He’d been so close. And then, Castiel lifted his legs over his shoulders and something fat and blunt was pushed into his whole. Castiel’s  _ cock _ . Dean’s mind reeled. He was being fucked by the Pharaoh of Egypt. What was the world coming to. But Castiel was humping away at him. And Dean loved it. Castiel’s cock throbbed writhing him and his grunts made Dean’s cock twitch. Thoughts fled him. There was only this: panting and pushing and pleasure and the drunkenness that comes with lust. Castiel was heavy as he pressed down into Dean. Heavier than a woman and  _ so _ satisfying. 

    “Dean,” Castiel said, eyes hazy. And suddenly Dean felt it. Castiel came within him. Shooting streaks of hot come, corrosive and sticky, into his body. Dean has been marked. He was Castiel’s man now. Just that thought made Dean come. He cried and anointed them both in white. He was surprised by his reactions, but as he was still loopy with the post-orgasm high, he couldn’t find it within himself to care. Castiel, trembkgn, slipped out of Dean and he undid the silk knots, freeing Dean’s body and mouth. Castiel kissed his lips gently.

       “Castiel,” Dean croaked.

       “Dean,” Castiel kissed his temple lazily. 

       “I apologize,” Dean said. 

       “You’re forgiven,” Castiel cuddled against him. Dean wasn’t repulsed as he thought he would be. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. Dean sighed. He needed to sort himself out. 

       “You think too much. When you’re rested, we’ll talk to the gods. They’ll soothe you,” Castiel said. 

       “Mmm,” agreed Dean and against his better judgement, he drifted off to sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

    The next few weeks passed in relative calm. Dean settled into a routine. He was always Castiel’s night guard, but since his slip after sparring, he never fell asleep in Castiel’s bed again. His secrets were his own and he didn’t need them drawn out of him from his slumber.   

    Balthazar was an excellent help with Greek. Dean was picking up the words faster and faster. Which was good. Cole kept up his jibes are Dean passed him or gave him his orders and his glances at Castiel had become suspiciously furious. Dean limited their time together as much as he could. One afternoon, as Balthazar and Dean held a conversation entirely in Greek, Dean for the courage up to ask a question that had been bothering him since that first sparring opportunity.

      “I take it the Pharaoh is a jealous lover?” Dean said in what he hoped was an airy tone. Balthazar looked startled.

      “No. He’s never kept anyone beholden to him,” Balthazar replied.

       “Really?” Dean squinted at him.

       “Really. When he and I slept together. I was also sleeping with _many_ other people. He had to have been aware of it and he never asked me to stop,” Balthazar said thoughtfully.

        “Then why did you stop? He’s a good fuck,” Dean said, even thought his cheeks were set aflame by his own words. It was hard to be so crass with his superior and not feel bad. Roman rules were still ingrained in his and Dean knew they always would be. Dean refused to believe it was anything else. He couldn’t believe he’d just admitted to enjoying himself.

         “The Pharaoh moved on. His interests are as fickle as mine, poor fellow. Probably why he hasn’t picked a queen. He’s never even courted anyone to my knowledge,” Balthazar said. He didn’t seem concerned by Dean’s statement and somehow that made Dean relax.

         “Perhaps,” Dean said with feigned disinterest.

         “You know, he’s rather fond of _you_ ,” Balthazar’s grin had returned full force. Dean’s heart beat a panicked rhythm against his ribs.

          “ _What_?” He demanded, defensiveness quickly turning to anger as his reddened cheeks darkened. Dean wondered if he could be permanently stained by his flush. Balthazar’s grin only deepened.

         “I’ve never seen him act out of jealousy before. That’s what it was with you, wasn’t it?” Balthazar asked. Dean hunched his shoulders haughtily but he couldn’t deny it. Everyone had seen it. Castiel came and reminded Dean who he belonged to. Dean shuddered, but he wasn’t altogether disgusted. Some treacherous part of his brain whispered that it was nice to be wanted that badly. It was nice that someone was afraid to lose him. Dean crushed the niggling feeling firmly. He was a Roman being possibly courted by the Egyptian god-king. Feelings would never be part of this. He had a job to do and that was secure Rome’s position with the Pharaoh. Feelings could never be the point.

       Castiel, of course, had other, inscrutable plans.

        “Dean,” he called one morning as Dean exited the bath chamber. Dean had just barely tied on a fresh loincloth and felt dreadfully overexposed. He barely resisted the urge to cup his hands over his cock, even as his gladius dangled in its usual place at his side. Castiel was trailed by two younger guards that Dean thought would promising  if they didn’t have the habit of gossiping so much. Samira was predictably at his side.

      “My lord.” Dean dropped to his knees. Castiel impatiently urged Dean to rise. In the past few weeks, Egyptian etiquette seemed to begin to annoy him where Dean was concerned.

      “Come. I have a gift for you,” Castiel paced off and Samira gave Dean her usual happy head rub on his legs. Dean pressed his hand between her shoulders and gave her neck a sound scratch. He’d gotten less fearful of her the longer he knew her but he could never quite forget that she was a lioness. Or the way she made his eyes water and his nose itch. He quickly trotted after Castiel and dismissed the young guards with a look. They guffawed openly, but Samira’s rumbling growl-purr sent them scurrying. Dean smiled to himself and rewarded her with a long pet.

        “She likes you almost as much as she likes me,” Castiel observed. Dean nodded.

        “Yes, my lord.”

        “Funny. She hates men I have relations with, as a rule. They take attention away from her.”

        “I’ve only ever seen her act up with Cole,” Dean confessed despite his better thoughts. “She doesn’t seem to mind anyone else, but I’d be happy to change your guard if she’s bothered by someone.” Castiel’s mouth thinned. It was his first sign of burgeoning anger or annoyance. Something inside Dean that was still small and shaky and remembered what anger could do shrank back.

      “Yes. I’d prefer not to have to spend too much time with Cole,” Castiel said, tone flat. Dean dipped his head immediately.

      “It’s done, my lord,” Dean said quickly. “Shall I remove him from the guard all together?”

        “I…” Castiel paused. He looked at Dean. His black rimmed lion eyes seemed so lost. They were a deep azure that could rival the desert sky. Beautiful. Unusual. Dean wondered how he had missed it, and then wondered why he noticed it at all. Castiel’s stubbly, round face and fine features suddenly stood out starkly. For once, Dean saw a man before he saw a whore.

      “I’ll have him guard the palace temples,” Dean said. His voice came out gentler and softer than he could remember it being since he had gotten to Egypt.

      “Thank you,” Castiel’s eyes crinkled around corners. He leaned in for a chaste kiss on Dean’s lips.  It was possibly the most tender touch Castiel had ever bestowed on him. Dean’s heart fluttered without him meaning for it to. What was happening to him? Castiel stepped back and took Dean’s hand. Samira flopped down and rested her head on her massive paws. It seemed she had no intention of following them further. Castiel laced his and Dean’s fingers together and Dean instinctively squeezed his palm. Castiel’s lips turned up into a small smile.

     “What are we doing, my lord?” Dean asked.

     “I hate it when you call me that,” Castiel said. “I’ve got a gift for you.” He lead Dean by the hand through the palace to a side Dean hadn’t seen before. Dean sighed internally. Just when he thought he’d seen everything he found there was more to the labyrinthine palace of Alexandria. They went outside and Dean was immediately slapped in the face by the overwhelming heat.

      “Jove, I hate that,” Dean grumbled. Castiel merely chuckled. He lead the way to an area that was twice the size of the of the practice arena. And filled with enclosures and stalls the the sounds of animals growling and trilling. Dean’s eyes widened.

      “Welcome to my menagerie,” Castiel said with a grin. Dean didn’t know where to step or what to look at. The noise alone was more than the sound of animals in gladiatorial fights.

      “Castiel, it’s…” Dean began.

      “Perhaps I should show you your gift,” Castiel was grinning, clearly excited. He lead Dean to the nearest pen of animals. In it were dogs. _Dogs_. They whistled to each other and play-fought over food and water dishes. Once Dean got over his initial terror, they were kind of beautiful, black and orange and white.

      “Jove,” Dean swore softly.

      “They call them painted wolves in the west, where they’re from,” Castiel said proudly.

      “They’re nothing like wolves I’ve ever seen,” Dean said.

      “No? I’ve never seen a Roman wolf,” Castiel replied with the interest of a collector. Dean’s stomach turned at the thought of more dogs. The panic of his encounter with his father’s dogs when he was a boy encroached in on the edges of his mind. Castiel seemed completely oblivious.

      “They’re grey,” Dean said, “and bigger.”

      “Interesting,” Castiel said thoughtfully. Well, now you have a pack of Egyptian wolves.”

      “What?” Dean’s voice came out in a squeak.

       “I got them for you,” Castiel said, clearly impatient that Dean wasn’t catching on. “Come. Let me show you the rest.” He took Dean’s hand and lead him through the mazes of enclosures. Dean was numb with awe and fear. Pens and pens of different animals, all in Dean’s name. Giraffe, impala, cheetah, oryx, fine falcons and lean dogs named for the Pharaoh (which made Dean shrink behind Castiel). It was a ridiculous and uniquely Egyptian luxury. Then, Castiel showed Dean _his_ animals.

     Dean’s were all delicate, beautiful, but they were all essentially harmless. Castiel’s were not. Odd sloping dog creatures laughed at Dean and fought angrily with each other. One crunched through a bone as easily as Dean did a date. His stomach turned.

     “Hyena,” Castiel clarified. “Be ever mindful of them.” From there, there were hippopotamus, buffalo, jackals, cobra, ibis, crocodiles, horses, war elephants, and finally lions. A male lion lounged with two females basked away from him. One was nursing three tiny cubs.

     “Beautiful,” Dean said, and meant it.

     “This is your final gift,” Castiel said with a smile. “Sekhmet favors you. Pick a cub for your own.”

       Dean turned wide eyes on him. “What?”

      “Samira is my companion. You’re the man I’m courting. Do you not deserve one as well?”

      “Are you courting me?” Dean asked. A furrow appeared in Castiel’s brow.

      “Surely you don’t think I’m giving you gifts and attention for nothing but your body.” Actually, Dean _did_ think that. Or, he used to.

       “Cas, I couldn’t possibly…” Dean trailed off.

       “Please. It’s my gift to give. A guard should have a formidable friend,” Castiel said.

        “Can I have a moment?” Dean asked, mind reeling. Castiel spread his hand cordially.

         “Of course.”

        With that, Dean turned and walked deeper into the menagerie. He stopped before an enclosure and, seeing it to be empty, took a moment to think. A lion of his own. Of all the gods-damned stupid luxuries. And what was this about Castiel courting him? Did that mean he’d called for Dean? And what did Dean feel about him? This was going very, very badly. Dean wished more than ever that Sam was here. He was always the smarter brother. He’d give Dean the counsel he needed. Rome and Sam seemed further away by the minute.

       Dean was broken from his thoughts by an animal clearing the fence of the previously uninhabited enclosure. It was a cat, a large one, covered in circular spots. It purred in the growly way Samira did and rubbed itself on Dean’s legs. A month ago, Jove, a fortnight ago, Dean would have balked. By now he was used to Castiel’s tame cats. He stroked its smooth back. It nuzzled his legs.

     “ _Dean?”_ Castiel's voice came nearer than Dean expected it to. He turned to see Castiel’s normally inscrutable face filled with stifled panic. “Dean,” he said, “step away from her. Slowly.” Dean did as he was told and the cat followed.

     “ _Gamò,_ ” Castiel swore in Greek. “By Horus.”

     “What?” Dean asked as the cat tried to wind her body around his legs. She was smaller than a lion, but that did not make her small. “She’s one of your tame cats, isn’t she?” At that Castiel barked out a laugh.

      “That leopard has never been tame. She’s sunk her teeth into everyone who dares to to get close enough.” For the second time today, Castiel looked worried. Dean’s heart swooped.

     “Seems tame enough to me,” Dean said, a little roughly. The leopard licked his fingers.

      “I thought you had earned Sekhmet’s patronage,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “Though your personality would speak to Mafdet.”

      “You’re saying one of your gods favors me?” Dean asked in disbelief. Why would they? He was a Roman, one who barely prayed to his own gods at that. The leopard rubbed her cheek on Dean’s hand.

      “I’m not _saying_ it. Look at that leopard. It’s like she’s been bade to be your familiar,” Castiel said.

       “My...familiar?” Dean’s brain struggled to catch up. Castiel waved his hand impatiently.

       “Have you not heard of the _pharmakis_ Circe? Her animal familiars?”

        “Of course,” Dean said. Every Roman had heard the tale of Ulysses and his adventures. “But I’m no witch.”

       “Nor am I. The gods only grant me my immortality and a bit of a talent for their blessings. But I still have Samira,” Castiel said with an air of deep patience. Dean balked.

      “Talent with their blessings? What does that mean?” He demanded . Castiel sighed gently.

      “It’d be easier if I showed you.” He carefully stepped closer and reached for Dean’s hand, even aware at the leopard that prowled around Dean’s feet. He turned Dean’s hand palm out and stared at it intently. Dean’s palm grew hot and then there was a flash of stinging pain. There was a bleeding slash across his hand. Dean just stared. Castiel covered his hand again and with the same unbearable heat, the pain ended. Castiel removed his hand and the wound was gone.

      “Cas, what?” How could Castiel _not_ call himself a witch after that? Dean had never witnessed such magic. He wanted to flee. He wanted to return to the logic and order of Rome. But something kept him rooted to the spot. Castiel’s eyes, he realized. Their calculating calmness alone was keeping him in place.

      “I’m a god-king,” Castiel said as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. “Sekhmet is my divine patron. She grants me the power that is hers to give, because I was born to a human lineage and can’t wield any of my own.”

      “You say Mafdet is my patron…” Dean trailed off, still processing.

      “I’m not sure what she may grant you. But she’s given you the sign of her favor. It’d be prudent to grant her your finest sacrifices and prayers,” Castiel advised. The leopard purred is seeming approval and sat beautifully by Dean’s feet.

       “So she’s mine?” Dean asked. His fingers splayed across her head and she pressed her head up into his hand. Dean smiles unbidden. Perhaps this wasn’t so bad.

        “She is. She still needs a name, you know,” Castiel said with a smile.

        “Cassia,” said Dean without thinking. He’d known a woman named Cassia in Rome and he’d always liked the name, even if he’d really barely known her.

       “Lovely,” Castiel replied. “Perhaps you two can get to know one another and then you’ll join me in my chamber this afternoon?”

       “I will. I’ll see you then, Castiel,” Dean said awkwardly. Castiel nodded sharply, once, then sauntered away, leaving Dean with the leopard. “Guess it’s just us, huh girl?” Dean asked. As he left Castiel’s menagerie, Cassia followed close on his heels.

*******

      There was something oddly powerful about having a leopard pacing beside him, Dean had to admit. She was still a wild cat, and she leapt on to every high ledge at every opportunity, but she reacted when he called to her. It was like it was as Castiel said: she was bade by the gods to follow his command. Or one god in particular. Mafdet. _Dean’s_ god. Or his patron, anyway. In any case, Dean’s mind was filled to the brim with humming thoughts that gnawed at his mind.

      He was sleeping with a man who could wound or heal with his eyes. Or his thoughts or something. Dean wasn’t sure how it worked, but he’d seen it. Felt it. The wound had been real and Castiel had removed it just as quickly. So the stories were true. Castiel was a god-king, and that kind of power made him a definite threat to Rome. So, Dean was supposed to kill him. Logically.

      But, but.

      How could Dean even imagine taking the light from those lion eyes? This wasn’t _love_ , per se, but it was something. You didn’t just sleep with the king of Egypt for weeks, Dean didn’t care what Balthazar said. He just...he couldn’t. The man loved animals and was adored by his guards. Well, except Cole but Dean was long past giving a fuck about what he thought. Castiel, who refused to go by his given name because he shared it with his father, who freed his father’s slaves, who loved a lioness like a housecat. Castiel, who was jealous over Dean, who gave Dean respect, who courted him in the only way he knew how. No. Dean couldn’t kill him. He realized then he hadn’t even planned on it anyway, not even when he was touting full loyalty to Rome. They were bound in some inexplicable way, and Dean was unwilling to see it end at his hand.

    That afternoon, he called to Cassia to shut her up in his chambers, where she would surely throw a fit and destroy something, so he could go and see Castiel. He arrived at Castiel’s chambers and was unsurprised to find him nude and covered in paints that seemed popular in the Egyptian style. More unusual were the pots and brushes that littered his table.

       “You say that only lupas where paints in Rome?” Castiel asked without greeting. Eager to get started, Dean nodded and entered.

        “Yes. Women in Rome decorate with jewelry or clothing. They are natural beauties. Lupas try to surpass that.”

          “Eye paints protect from the sun,” Castiel said. “And they can be used to honor the gods with their markings. And, they are aesthetically pleasing, wouldn’t you agree?” Dean’s eyes roved over Castiel’s face and body. His cock began to rise.

         “Yes.”

         “May I paint you?” Castiel asked, voice low and rough. Dean swallows thickly. He was unsure, but no one would see, right?

        “Yes.” Castiel smiled and took Dean’s hand to lead him to the table. “Hold still,” he commanded. And then he dipped a soft and narrow bush into the pot of khol. He carefully brushed it over the rims of Dean’s eyes, across his lip to his chin, the vast swath of his chest. The feather-light touch stroke of the brush tickled Dean’s skin and Castiel’s warm breath swept across him as he leaned in to do his work. Dean could feel the heat from his body and smell the oils that servants had rubbed into his skin. Finally, Castiel finished. He huffed out a soft breath. Carefully, gently, he clasped a gold necklace about Dean’s throat. Dean had never wore jewelry in his life and he almost scoffed at the luxury, if he had not been gifted a leopard. Castiel met Dean’s eyes.

       “If all Roman lupas look like you, I’d imagine women would have a hard time holding their husbands’ attention,” Castiel said in clear awe.

         “What…?” Dean spluttered. Had Castiel just called him a whore?

          “I mean that you’re beautiful,” Castiel said unsteadily, and carefully untied Dean’s loincloth. He sank to his knees and reverently stroked Dean’s hips down over his thighs. Then, he began to suck Dean’s cock. Bewildered, Dean bucked into his mouth at the sudden onslaught of pleasure.

        “ _Cas_ ,” he choked out and scrabbled his fingers at Castiel’s head. Castiel pulled off his cock with an obscene noise.

         “That’s the third time you’ve called me that,” Castiel remarked as easily as he would the weather. Dean’s chest was heaving at the sudden changes in sensation.

          “I a-apologize, my lord—” Dean gritted out, his cock twitching and seeking the warmth and pleasure once again. Castiel nuzzled his thigh.

         “I wasn’t chastening you,” Castiel said, then swallowed Dean’s cock down without another thought. Dean whipcorded around him, a high keen rising in his throat. Nothing in the world could be better than this. The most powerful man Dean had ever met was _sucking his cock_.

    Castiel swallowed around him.

    Dean whined.

    Castiel could remove Dean’s heart with a thought. Destruction and salvation in a person. God-king indeed. His teeth scraped against a vein on the underside of Dean’s cock. Dean shuddered. Castiel’s head was bobbing up and down now and Dean was just letting his hips buck twitchily. As if he could do anything else. Heat pooled in his gut.

        “Cas, I’m gonna...I’m gonna—”

        Dean came in Castiel’s mouth as he had never before. It was thrilling and terrifying, spilling his seed in such a powerful mouth. It was a beautiful one, Dean thought sluggishly as his body spasmed to release wave after wave of come. Castiel simply held him in his mouth and lovingly rubbed Dean’s thigh with one hand. The other, Dean realized, was working furiously between his thighs. Dean was not completely through the aftershocks, but he pushed Castiel’s face off him and dragged him up to stand. Dean leaned against him heavily as his legs felt as shaky and a newborn fawn’s, and he languidly began to stroke Castiel the rest of the way off.

        “Dean you don’t have to— _oh_.” Castiel’s breath hitched. He came, spurting between them. He pressed himself more firmly against Dean. They stood like that for some time, panting, chests pressing warmly against each other, like some great Dean-Castiel beast. It was the closest Dean had ever felt to holy. He nuzzled Castiel’s cheek. Emotions bubbled up unbidden in him. Terrifying emotions. Emotions that could get him killed in Rome or in Egypt. Love thrummed through him with every beat of his heart against his ribs. Panic followed.

       No, no, no, _no_ . But once the word rose in Dean’s mind it couldn’t be stopped. Dean looked around wildly, trying to distract himself, and caught sight of his reflection in a fine mirror of polished bronze. Dean looked like a real lupa, paints and a golden collar and all sex-mussed. Dean couldn’t take it. He couldn’t _take it_. He disentangled himself from Castiel roughly.

        “Dean,” Castiel said. His voice was soft and concerned and Dean couldn’t take that either and he ran. “Dean! What’s wrong?” Castiel’s confused voice came from behind him, but Dean had become a being of movement. He just ran as panic choked his breaths. He was nude, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. It was like being possessed by Achilles himself, he just ran and ran, like a demigod, without tiring.

      Dean exited the place and ran against the hard Alexandrian roads. The great lighthouse caught his attention suddenly, a beacon of hope to sailors and now, to Dean. He charged toward it and once he reached it, he clambered up the stairs and finally, finally, before the already lit fires, he stopped, chest heaving.

     How had this happened? How could sex turn so quickly to love? Could it be love or was it simply sex? If he had thought Venus was laughing at him before...Dean shook his head. This whole thing was dangerous. And horrifyingly right in some way. He did love Castiel. Dean wondered when Cupid struck him.

     He gazed out over the fires at the wine dark sea. Helios’s chariot was sinking past the horizon and his sister Luna would rise soon. Dean wished he could speak to a soothsayer so he could know his path. He should quench this love, but could he? He wanted _Sam_. Just the thought of his brother made his heart clench painfully. Sam would know what to do. He was always smarter than Dean. His mind was sharp enough for ten people let alone one. Dean missed him and his counsel.

 

       “Dean?” Came from behind him. Dean startled and turned. Castiel, also naked, also panting, stood behind him. Dean let out a long breath.

      “Cas,” he said. His voice sounded wavery. Castiel pulled Dean into a warm hug.

       “You scared me,” he whispered fiercely into Dean’s shoulder.

        “Sorry,” Dean said stiffly, even as he melted into Castiel’s embrace like sun-warmed honey.

       “I try my best Dean. Every time I think I’m getting nearer to you, you draw back,” Castiel murmured.

         “You’ve sucked my cock,” Dean said evenly, “we’re as close as people can be.”

         “We’re not, though,” Castiel insisted. “You won’t even consent to sleeping in my bed after we’ve had sex.”

          “Cas, I’m just some Roman. What do you even care? I’m just the next new thing till you Tis me aside like the rest of your men,” Dean said gruffly. It hurt, to say such things to Castiel. It hurt deeper than Dean even thought possible. It was just so _hard_ to push Castiel away.

        “Is that what you think? Dean.” Castiel drew away and gently grasped Dean’s chin so he was forced to stare into those lion eyes. “Do you not know what the necklace I gave you says?” Dean immediately reached to probe the gold around his neck. He felt the details of letters, but he couldn’t tell what they were. He shook his head.

        “What does it say?”

        “ _Philatos_ ,” Castiel said, with agonizing gentleness that made Dean’s heart hammer. “The most beloved.”

        “That’s Homer,” Dean said in soft wonder.

        “What Achilles called good Patroklus, yes,” Castiel agreed. “Do you see? You are not something to be tossed aside.”

         “Cas,” Dean didn’t know what to do. Did this mean Castiel loved him too? And what did that change? Dean was still a Roman guardsman, tasked to do his duty to save his brother.

         “Dean, my very heart, you’re so melancholy. I can’t get closer if you won’t let me. Not even a god could enter your heart without your command. What can I do to ease my path?” Castiel asked softly. Dean’s heart cracked.

        “I miss my brother,” he confessed, sounding like a gods-damned child, which immediately annoyed him. Castiel stroked his cheek.

       “What’s your brother’s name?” he asked thoughtfully

        “Secundus Iohannes Samuel,” Dean replied warily. He could have lied, but what would that have done? Sam was likely in danger already. Castiel gave a wry smile.

       “I should like to know the rest of the Iohannii,” he said. He tangled his fingers with Dean’s. “Shall we head back.” Dean nodded.

        “Yes, Castiel,” he said.

         “Will you sleep in my bed?” He asked.

         “No,” Dean said firmly. His nightmares were his own. “Not yet.”

         “Oh-ho! Yet. I can be patient if there is a _yet_ ,” Castiel smiled beautifully. Dean wanted desperately to kiss him. He restrained himself. The walked down and out of the lighthouse and to the darkened street toward the palace.

        “Yes. Yet,” Dean said. He wasn’t sure he could hold out against sleeping with Castiel for much longer. He was already running out of excuses.

        “One more thing, Dean. Let me in a little further. What do you fear?” Dean thought about that. He feared Sam’s death. He feared his dead father. He feared falling in love with Castiel and he feared everything else less which was also becoming a fear.

       “Snakes,” Dean said. Castiel let it a deep, rumbling laughed from his belly.

        “I’ll be sure to keep you away from the royal cobras then!” He snorted. He squeezed Dean’s hand and hurried their pace to a trot. Their shoulders barely touched and the space between them made Dean ache.

 

        

        

         

 


	5. Chapter 5

    Nearing a fortnight later, Dean was beginning to realize that Castiel was up to something. The Pharaoh, as always, was unknowable, a god king, some kind of  _ pharmakis _ as the Greeks called it, even though he insisted he wasn’t everytime Dean pressed him. He always claimed that the gods simply granted him their power, but that sounded ungodlike to Dean. 

    Every god he could think of in all the stories told seemed to attempt to keep mortals miserable. That was probably the wisest thing Dean’s father had ever said. The only wise thing he had ever said, if Dean was being honest with himself _. A miserable man makes an excellent sacrifice _ , Iohannes had told his sons after he had gone mad with grief after their mother, a Celtic freedwoman died in a fire. He’d been right. In his misery, he’d sacrificed Dean to every cruelty he had. If spilled blood could make the gods listen, Iohannes would have brought Mary back ten times over with Dean’s. 

     Dean never understood their relationship. Iohannes resented everything about his wife and her culture, even refusing to call her by her given name. Mary meant ‘sea of bitterness’ and for all his claims to love her, Dean, even as a tot barely out of the cradle, had never forgotten that. Dean sometimes wondered if Iohannes had hated him and Sam so much because Mary had named them for a Hebrew man she had loved like a father and Dean for the valley she had been born in. He wasn’t sure he’d ever know why. But something in his father’s heart broke when his mother died, and it was enough to swallow Dean whole. 

       But he was an adult now. He’d worked himself from soldier, to Praetorian Guard, to Prefect, to this. Guard and lover of the Egyptian Pharaoh. If his father held any sway in the afterlife, Dean was sure he’d be at Pluto’s gate, demanding plagues be sent after his son. Dean wasn’t superstitious, but he shuddered. Perhaps there be a priest in Alexandria who would give him a repellent for the dead. Castiel may have been a repellent himself. But that could just be Dean’s treacherous heart, wishing for what he was denying it. And in any case, Castiel was keeping a secret from Dean. Well. He kept many secrets from Dean but this one  _ involved  _ Dean. He was getting odd about burning letters and he kept sweeping papers into the fireplace hastily when Dean entered his chambers for a nighttime rendezvous. 

      “What’s going on, Cas?” Dean asked for the millionth time. He’d just spent a long time sucking Castiel’s cock and he hoped that would make him more pliant. 

         “I’m trying to pleasure you. I promised you a night of wonder,” Castiel replied in a deadpan. 

        “I came,” Dean retorted. And he had. The feeling of Castiel’s cock on his tongue had been enough entirely to send him into orgasm. Twice. 

        “Hardly. We can do better than that.” Castiel drew Dean up beside him and began to toy with his cock.

        “You know, not everyone has the same stamina you do. And yet, you claim you’re not a witch,” Dean said through a sigh. He wasn’t sure if he could get erect again, but it felt nice to have his cock handled in Castiel’s warm hands. It was nice to simply be held. 

        “I’m not,” Castiel said, gentled cupping Dean’s balls and rolling them in his palm. “I’m a god-king, and you know well the difference now. I believe my soothsayer is, though. Perhaps she can give you some  _ pharmakeia _ to increase your sexual prowess.”

       “I don’t need it,” Dean said. He was still damn proud of his sexual prowess, thank you very much. 

      “No,” Castiel agreed, “you don’t.”

      “Stop distracting me,” Dean groused when he came to his senses and realized he was no closer to the answer to his question than when he started. 

      “Distracting you from what,  _ philatos _ ?” Castiel asked. He had taken to calling Dean that particular pet term after that fateful night on the lighthouse. He gave Dean’s cock a feather-light touch. “This?”

      “No.” Dean gripped Castiel’s wrist so he could think. He couldn’t  _ think  _ with Castiel tenderly touching his cock and Castiel’s scent in his nose. “You’re hiding something. You’ve been hiding something for weeks. I want to know what it is.”

      “Oh, that.” Castiel grinned broadly. “Not just yet.”

      “As head of your guard, there should be no secrets between us. I cannot assure your safety if I don’t know what’s happening,” Dean argued. Castiel’s smiles didn’t change. If anything, his eyes crinkled further in joy. Dean huffed, annoyed. 

      “Patience, Dean. This will be worth the wait.” Dean didn’t agree, but he could no more make the Pharaoh of Egypt speak than he could teach his leopard to play the lyre. He had no choice but to wait.

       “I’m not known for my patience,” Dean grumbled. Castiel shook Dean’s hand away. He began to stroke Dean’s cock more surely now. Dean’s breath hitched in his throat. 

       “Truer words have not been spoken,” Castiel agreed. “So distraction it must be.”

       Dean had to admit, it was a very nice distraction tactic, even if the talk afterward made his heart clench with love that he wasn’t allowing himself. In total, Dean had two more orgasms and no more answers. 

****** 

    It was morning several days later that Dean received a knock on his chamber door. Dean had just sheathed his gladius in preparation for his guard shift. Cassia lounged beautifully on his bed. As loathe Dean had been to take her on as his familiar, she was an excellent companion. Dean opened his door to reveal  Balthazar and Inias, the courier. Inias bowed. Balthazar was wearing his kohl and his smirk. 

      “Commander,” Inias said, “His Majesty requests the immediate honor of your and Lady Cassia’s presence in his throne room.” That was another thing Dean had to get used to. His leopard outranked him. Simply by virtue of her being chosen by the gods and by being Castiel’s, she was a lady. 

      “Does the Pharaoh  _ ever _ have a treat for you, Commander,” Balthazar said. His smirk winded into a grin. 

       “Does everyone know of his plans but me?” Dean snapped. His clicked his tongue and Cassia leapt from the bed to come by his side. Dean patted her smooth head. She purred. 

      “Give him a little credit,” Balthazar said as they set off for the throne room. “He had to prepare the palace for this and he kept everyone from ruining your surprise. It’s a great feat of a great king.” Dean did have to admit, that was impressive. It would’ve been impossible in Rome. In Egypt, it seemed, there was too much respect for people to run a network of spies for gossip.

      “I suppose,” Dean relented. He and Balthazar discussed the next week’s guard shifts and Inias remained unobtrusive and quiet. Both Balthazar and Inias gave Cassia a wide berth which was just as well. Only Castiel and Dean so far could pet her and she tended to be bad tempered on a good day. Finally, they reached the throne room. 

      “Commander, if you would bow in respect to His Majesty,” Inias said politely, but unnecessarily. Dean was used to greeting the Pharaoh properly. It had been several moons that Dean had been here, Dean realized with a start. Was he more Egyptian or Roman now? Perhaps Egyptian. He was desperately in love with the Pharaoh. He couldn’t even deny to himself. His loyalties had shifted so quickly, Dean didn’t even recognize himself. He felt like a nomad with no nationality to claim. And that made his stomach clench uncomfortably. 

      Inias swung the doors of the the throne room open. Dean entered, head bowed, and prostrated himself on the ground. Cassia sat beside him and began to purr. She was a constant comfort to Dean, with her sounds and loyalty. At least she was easily understandable. 

      “My lord Pharaoh and guest, Commander Iohannes Dean,” the herald proclaimed. Guest? Was that what Castiel had been hiding. A guest to his court? Why? Did he want Dean to make a fool of himself? Perhaps he did. Perhaps it was Consul Crassus, checking in on Dean’s loyalties. Dean’s heart hammered in his chest. 

      “Begone,” came Castiel’s rough voice, to the herald, Inias, and Balthazar no doubt, because there was the sound of feet against the lapis and the the heavy throne room doors shutting closed. “Rise,” Castiel said, this time to Dean. Trying to hide his burgeoning anxiety, Dean got to his feet. Cassia pressed her cheek to his leg. Dean lifted his eyes to Castiel. He was handsome as ever in his wig and scepter with his more formal kohl around his lion eyes. But he had a wide, gummy smile on. Samira lounged by his feet, just like she had when Dean had first come to Rome, but this time she was familiar with Dean and chirped a greeting to him. And beside Castiel...no. It couldn’t be. Dean could scarcely do anything but stare.

      “ _ Salvè _ , Dean,” Sam said in Latin. He was in good health and in a wool toga. Dean  _ ran _ to him. He crushed Sam into a warm hug that Sam returned with the same ferocity. 

     “Sammy?” Dean asked. A wave of emotion rose up in his throat, making it difficult to speak. 

    “His Majesty sent for me from Rome. He said you were doing excellently here, but you missed your family,” Sam said around a broad grin that Dean mirrored. Sam was  _ here _ . He was safe. No rumor in Rome could make him unsafe in Egypt. And he was  _ here _ . Dean hadn’t been sure he’d ever see Sam again. He gripped both Sam’s shoulders just to feel the solid muscle beneath. He was still nearly a head taller than Dean. His eyes were the same color. He was the same man Dean had raised himself when Iohannes was disinterested or in a drunken stupor. 

     “Crassus gave you permission to come?” Dean asked, delighted. That meant there was no harm done in Rome. That meant he could still return home. Rome didn’t feel like home anymore, though, a niggling voice said in the back of Dean’s mind. Home was this desert, with Castiel and now, Sam. Dean did his best to kill the voice. Sam’s expression shifted to something grave. 

      “Not exactly,” he said.

      “Crassus is dead. Antony is Consul with Caesar now. He told me it would be better if Sam to stay in Rome,” Castiel said. Dean whipped around to him. His expression, too, was serious. “I feared for what that meant, so I hired mercenaries from Carthage to get him safely to Egypt, which is why this whole venture took so long.” 

   Carthage was a nearby ally of Egypt, but the price of these mercenaries would have been enough to have bought and sold Dean ten times over. Dean lost his battle with emotion and a few tears slipped down his cheeks. He looked at something else to steady himself. Samira was grooming Cassia on the lapis. Somehow, something that had become a commonplace occurrence made more tears well up in his eyes, as if Neptune had made tiny oceans out of them. 

      “Cas,” Dean said, failing to keep his voice steady. Castiel opened his arms and Dean went to him as a moth was drawn to flame. Castiel pulled him in close and kissed his head. Dean leaned all his strength against him. 

       “ _ Philatos _ .  _ Mahbub _ ,” Castiel said. He liked to do that; he liked to speak the same word in Egyptian and Greek. “Are you happy?” He sounded so unsure. Deal lifted his head to kiss him properly, Sam looking on be damned, because the Pharaoh of Egypt had gone to greater lengths than anyone else had to make sure Sam was safe.

     “ _ Deliciae _ ,” Dean said. Same word, but in Latin and one Dean had never uttered to another soul. “I have never been more happy.” 

      Sam cleared his throat. Dean’s ears burned. Sam had never seen Dean with a woman, or a man, for that matter. Suddenly Sam’s approval of his buggery and of Castiel seemed direly important. Dean turned in Castiel’s arms. Castiel draped himself over Dean’s back and shifted his arms around Dean’s middle. The burning in his ears reached his cheeks. Since it had been given to him, Dean had not removed the golden necklace. 

      “I’m happy for you, Dean,” Sam said with a smile. It didn’t seem forced or false. Dean scrutinized him. 

       “You don’t mind that I’m with a man?” Dean asked.

       “Why should I? You’ve got the king of Egypt! You look well Dean, and you deserve someone, you really do,” Sam said. Dean could’ve hugged his brother again if not for Castiel at his back. 

      “Thank you, Sam,” Castiel said. He kissed Dean’s shoulder. “Now, I heard your brother had never been on a proper hunt,” Castiel said. Dean nodded in agreement. 

      “Only the rich can have such leisure time,” Dean said.

      “Well, I think you’ll both enjoy it. My horses and dogs are the finest companions and my hunting grounds are rich,” Castiel said. Dean tensed. 

     “I think Cassia will do better than any dog,” he suggested weakly. Castiel nodded thoughtfully. He teased Dean and stepped back to face both brothers.

      “Cassia?” Sam asked. Dean pointed sheepishly to the leopard. 

      “She’s mine,” he said. Sam’s brows shot up in surprise. 

      “He who has never got along with any animal but a horse has a leopard.” Sam emphatically and melodramatically shook Castiel’s hand in both of his. Castiel laughed richly. Dean’s heart fluttered. “Perhaps now he’ll consent to a dog!” Sam said in delight. He had never faced the wrath of their father’s hounds, Dean had made damn sure. As a result, he’d always favored dogs over any other animal and he couldn’t understand Dean’s dislike. 

       “Dean has dogs,” Castiel said in surprise. “They’re just down in the kennels with mine. Cassia is simply his familiar.”

         “Yeah…” Dean scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. He was the only one who knew of this fear of dogs. 

        “You have more animals?” Sam’s eyes were huge with wonder.

        “Dean mentioned you enjoyed natural philosophy,” Castiel said, clearly preening. Fondness washed over Dean. “Come, Sam, Dean, let us go on a hunt. There’s no better way to see the wonders of Egypt than that.” 

 

******

 

     Castiel was right. There was no better or more exhilarating way to see Egypt than to hunt her lands. It was achingly hot but Dean had acclimated some and the servants who covered them in cool water and oils to prevent a sunburn certainly helped. Dean was astride a fine black stallion called Bucephalus after his apparent ancestor. Castiel and Sam had bay mounts that were no less fast or beautiful. Sam was enthralled by the dogs milling about the horse’s legs. 

     “There are none so slender in Rome,” Sam gushed, “And none in Rome are so fast!”

       “What dogs do you have in Rome?” Castiel asked, genuinely curious. Dean couldn’t help his grin. He hadn’t expected Sam and Castiel to get along so well. He also hadn’t expected to enjoy hunting as much as he did. Stalking oryx was difficult and all the more fun for it. But the chase was everything. Dean could almost forget his fear of dogs when the hounds finally flushed the oryx out of the high grass and they had to flank it until the lead rider, in this case Dean, could make the kill shot. Dean was a seasoned horseman from his brief time as a legionnaire, but he had never ridden a horse such as this one. The barest touch of Dean’s heels to his sides had the stallion leaping forward. As Dean raised his bow to take down the oryx, he’d never felt more in control of a horse. 

      Suddenly, Cassia exploded out of the grass beside Dean and caught the oryx by the neck. The creature brayed and kicked, but Cassia hung on till the life drained out of it. Once it was dead, Cassia dropped it and purred proudly as she presented it to Dean. The stallion reared at the sudden appearance of a predator but Dean was able to retain his seat until he could swing off and give his reins to a waiting servant. Dean dropped to his knees to press his forehead to Cassie’s. He laughed against her warm muzzle. Bemusedly, she rasped her tongue over his cheek. 

     “I take it you didn’t kill it?” Castiel was smiling and striding over to them with Sam at his heels. It was almost absurd seeing his brother in a linen loincloth when they’d been in togas all their life, but Sam was absolutely lathered in sweat. They were certainly the height of fashion in Egypt for a reason. 

      “She’s incredible,” Sam said in admiration. The hounds milled around his legs. Cassia growled to keep them at bay. Dean rubbed her cheek in thanks. 

      “That she is,” Castiel agreed, but he was smiling at Dean. “You there,” he barked at a servant who jumped at being addressed by the Pharaoh. He flattened himself at Castiel’s feet. 

       “Yes, my lord Pharaoh?” The servant asked into the sandy dirt. 

        “Butcher the oryx. Bring the finest cuts back to Gabriel to prepare in a meal tomorrow, but the heart is to be fed to Lady Cassia in thanks for this bounty and Lady Samira will have her shoulder,” Castiel commanded.  

       “Yes, my lord,” the servant hurried to do just that. Cassia followed him, still very much interested in her kill.

        “Now,” Castiel turned to Sam and Dean. “Dean, if your brother is the scholar you say he is, he’ll enjoy the library. Take him there and enjoys some private time together. I’ll see you this evening?” Dean was endeared that he asked. Castiel, king of kings, who had everything he desired at his beck and call always asked for the pleasure of Dean’s company. Dean nodded.

        “Yes, my lord.”

         They set off in different directions and it only took a half hour to reach the library. Upon entry, Sam was predictably stunned. 

        “Dean,  _ look _ ,” Sam said in wonder, tracing reverent fingers over scrolls. “I heard they make copies of every piece of writing that passes through Alexandria.”

        “They do,” Dean replied, grinning. “You’re such a whore for knowledge.”

         “ _ Malūm _ ,” Sam shot back. 

         “ _ Canē _ ,” Dean said obligatorily. “Cas says you can keep as many as you want.” Dean gestured at the scrolls. 

         “ _ Cas _ ,” Sam mimicked with a grin. “It’s not even been more than a few months and you’re already so familiar with him.”

         “I didn’t mean to be, Sammy,” Dean said, frowning. “I’m still loyal to the Consulate.”

         “The fuck you are,” Sam said, suddenly becoming serious. “No one in Rome is loyal to the Consulate.”

        “I am,” Dean argued.

        “Then you’re a fool. How do you think Crassus died? Caesar wanted power, so he took it from Crassus’s blood,” Sam said. 

        “Wouldn’t Cicero have something to say about that? For all his preaching about the might of the Senate and the Republic?” Dean asked.

        “Cicero is in on it. Caesar’s playing for something and Cicero’s helping him. Antony is probably just a means to and end. The Senate is fooled. Something is brewing.”

        “How do you know all this, Sam?” Dean asked with rising anxiety. Sam winced.

        “I may have caught wind of things I shouldn’t have. Maybe thought myself a hero. I don’t know. If the Pharaoh hadn’t gotten me out of Rome…” Sam trailed off. 

       “Jove,” Dean swore. He gripped Sam’s shoulders. “I don’t know what I would’ve don’t if I’d lost you,” he whispered fiercely. 

       “I know, Dean, I know. I just...I want to make the world better,” Sam said. 

        “You will, Sammy,” Dean said. “I’m glad we’re both in Egypt now. We’ll both be safe here.” 

        “For now,” Sam said doubtfully. “Like I said, something terrible is brewing. And I think they mean for you to be a pawn. But you  _ aren’t  _ loyal to them anymore, right?”

        “Sammy, I...I don’t know,” Dean said.

        “But you love Cas,” Sam said. 

        “You misunderstand. We sleep together, yes, but that’s it,” Dean replied, shaking his head.

          “Dean, you’ve never looked at anyone like that in all your life. He calls you  _ philatos _ . You called him  _ deliciae _ . Dean, if that’s not love, then Venus has been struck down by Jove,” Sam said stubbornly.

         “Fine,” Dean said. He could never lie to his brother. Not even about the extent of what Iohannes did. Sam just hadn’t asked about it. “I do, Sam. It’s bad.”

         “It might just save us,” Sam said urgently “if you’re loyal to him, not Rome. Have you told him?”

      “Of course not!” Dean snapped. 

      “Tell him. For your sake and ours,” Sam urged him. “You deserve love. I think he feels the same way.”

       “You’re right,” Dean said. He was. Blast him, he was. Dean could no more contain his love that he could wield Jove’s thunderbolts. And if this switch in loyalty could save Sam, then he’d do anything.

     They spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, and when they left, Sam had borrowed a satchel that was full to bursting with scrolls on law, architecture, religion, and a few for leisure. Dean sent his brother to his chambers with a servant then went to go seek out Castiel. Helios had just brought his chariot to rest over the horizon and Dean was eager for the pleasure of Castiel. He still had his gladius sheathed at his hip on an odd feeling that it would be good to have it. It felt like a god was guiding his hands when he put it on, but who was Dean to question? He was a commander and he was there to defend Castiel at all costs.

     He came to Castiel’s chamber and found it oddly ajar. Dean silently slid his gladius from its sheath and padded in. Castiel was tied to a post on his bed. Cole, short dagger drawn held it to Castiel’s neck. Castiel looked terribly fearful in a way that Dean had never seen him before. Dean lifted his blade. Castiel met his eyes and calmed visibly and immediately. He trusted Dean. 

     “See, if you don’t struggle, I’ll make this fun,” Cole crooned. “I’ll always you forget all about that traitor Roman. I’m so much better, Pharaoh, you’ll see.”

       “ _ Whore _ ,” Dean spat. He couldn’t contain himself any longer. That man, that  _ beast _ had no right to ravage Castiel. Dean couldn’t even ravage Castiel. Castiel, glorious god-king, wielder of magic, was better than anyone Dean had ever met aside from Sam. He loved Castiel more than his own heart, he loved Castiel more than Rome and more than the sea and more than the stars. He loved Castiel in the space between breaths and in the voice of the gods. Cole  _ would not _ harm him. 

       Cole turned around with a snarl on his face and Dean didn’t even have time to think about what to do. He just thrust his gladius forward, straight into Cole’s chest. The force of the blow startled Dean. He hadn’t been so certain of his strength. The edges of the gladius must have been blunted against Cole’s ribs. Cole made a raspy gurgling sound and Dean hefted him up. Cole slid wetly down the blade all while pouring blood, making Dean’s hands slick with it. Dean dropped his gladius and it was done. Cole gave a few last twitches before Mercury took his soul.   Dean rushed to Castiel to untie him and wrap him in a tight hug. Castiel peppered his face with kisses. 

        “ _ Philatos _ ,” he murmured, “my love, my savior.” He kept granting Dean titles. Dean kissed him deeply to silence him. 

       “I’m just Dean,” he said after he drew back. 

       “You’re not  _ just  _ anything,” Castiel growled. “You’re my everything and I am a god on mortal soil so you are everything to everyone. The most precious gift Egypt possess.”

       “Let me wash my hands,” Dean said with a deprecating smile. “I’ve gotten you bloody.”

        “I’ll wash your hands myself,” Castiel said. And he did. Carefully and reverently, he removed all the blood and summoned a few servants to dispose of the body and a few bodyguards to stand outside the door. It was late into Luna’s chariot ride before it was all done.

     Finally, Castiel lay down on the bed and tugged Dean beside him. Dean went willingly and curled securely against him. 

     “You have the power of destruction from Sekhmet herself,” Dean said. “How did you not save yourself?”

      “I tried to summon my power, but the gods took it away. I think they meant you to do it,” Castiel replied, still reverently stroking Dean’s arms, his face. 

      “Why?” Dean wondered. 

       “The philosopher Plato said that Zeus created humans as four legged, two headed creatures that could rival even the might of the gods. But that wouldn't do so he split them apart, damning them to seek their other half for eternity. You’re my other half, Dean. The mate of my soul. The gods wanted us to be powerful again. In a way we can’t be apart,” Castiel said. He kissed Dean’s temple. Dean’s heart hammered against his chest. 

      “But, this is improper. You’re a  _ man.  _ You’re the Pharoah, the God-king of god-kings. I’m just a Roman guard.” Dean shook his head even as his heart hammered hopefully in his chest.

       “You’re right. I am the god-king if god-kings and if I want a man, I’ll have him, no matter who he thinks he is,” Castiel said. He gripped Dean’s chin. “Do you not love me, Iohannes Dean?”

     Dean met Castiel’s gaze. He couldn’t lie to those lion eyes. 

      “I love you, Castiel,” Dean said with all the honesty in his heart. Jove but he loved Castiel.

        “I love you, too. The gods made you the mate of my soul and this love is meant to be,” Castiel said firmly. Dean could only agree. Castiel had almost been stolen from him. The gods had blessed them in some way. Of this, Dean was sure.

      “You’re staying with me tonight,” Castiel said fiercely as he tangled their limbs together. “No excuses. I’ll feel your warmth beside me in the morning.”

       “There’s no place I’d rather be,” Dean said, and he meant it. 

 

 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

   The next morning, Dean and Castiel made love. They didn’t fuck, there was no game, just two men enjoying each other’s bodies. Just Castiel’s cock rhythmically entering Dean’s body, and though they had done this many times together, Dean had never felt more connected to Castiel. After they finished, they lay together without speaking for a long time. Finally, Dean worked up his courage. 

      “I love you, Cas,” Dean said.

       “And I, you, Dean,” Castiel said. He bit his lip. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

       “I wasn’t either,” Dean said. “I didn’t want to.”

       “I know. I wasn’t sure if you were the one,” Castiel said. “I am now.”

       “What one?” Dean asked suspiciously. 

        “I didn’t ask for a guard from Rome. I asked for their best man. I thought I’d be sent a whore,” Castiel said. 

        “But they sent you a guard.” Dean furrows his brow. 

        “I was lonely, Dean. I asked the high priestess if there was mate of my soul out there. The gods cannot speak to me, but they told her he was in Rome and he would be my salvation,” Castiel said. “I trusted that if I asked, they would guide the right person to me.”

       “You think the gods brought me here? Because I’m the mate of your soul. Like Pluto and Proserpina?” Dean asked. He felt shaken. Was he simply a divine pawn?

       “I know so. There could be no one else in the world I could possibly love more. You and all your strange ways. I’ve fallen for you. You are to me as Isis is to Osiris. I’ll marry you if you let me,” Castiel said eagerly. Dean’s head was spinning. 

       “You don’t want that, Cas. I’m rough. Cole wasn’t the first man I’ve killed. I was a Roman legionaries. I have nightmares and my father beat me and—” Dean was cut off by Castiel pressing a finger to his lips. 

        “I know you have nightmares. You thrashed so much last night till I soothed you. I cannot change your past, Dean. I have power, but not enough for that. I’m not sure the gods themselves do. But, I love you anyway. All restless and angry and sad,” Castiel said firmly. 

        “I’m broken,” Dean said. A tear rolled down his cheek. 

        “Then I will marry your pieces,” Castiel said. “Come, let’s visit the high priestess. She’ll show us the gods’ will for us to proceed.” Dean could only nod. 

       “I love you,” he told Castiel again. Now that he’d said it once, he couldn’t un-say it and he couldn’t stop saying it. 

      “Come,” Castiel tied his loincloth. Dean did the same. He tied his still bloody gladius to his hip and then he took Castiel’s outstretched hand. 

   In the hall, Cassia and Samira slept together in a tangle of limbs. Dean smiled. 

      “It’s like a sign,” he said. 

      “It is,” Castiel said. They quickly reached the chamber of the palace temple. When they entered it, they entered into a cloud of sweet smelling smoke. 

      “I knew you were coming,” said a hooded girl who was tending the fires. She lowered her hood to reveal a pretty face and a pair of milky, sightless eyes. 

      “High priestess,” Castiel said with a bow. Dean followed suit. 

       “Your intended must first answer a question before the gods,” the priestess said. Dean didn’t know how she could possibly know that he was Castiel’s anything, but perhaps it was the gods. Dean had barely considered himself a believer but he was becoming more religious by the day. Egypt was surely a god’s land. 

       “Yes, priestess?” Dean asked when trepidation. Castiel’s hand on his lower back steadied him.  

        “ _ Carthagō delenda est _ ,” the priestess croaked. “Tell me, Roman, does this ring true?”

        “Dean?” Castiel asked. Dean didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to answer. _ Carthage ought to be burned _ . It was a statement of war. But what did it have to do with Dean? He had no fight with Carthage. 

        “Rome marches on Carthage. The gods require your loyalty here. Do you swear it, Roman?” The priestess asked. Was this what Sam had been talking about? Caesar was marching to Carthage, and that meant conquest. And that meant he would soon turn his sights or Egypt. To Castiel and Sam and all of Alexandria.

        “I swear my loyalty to Castiel,” Dean said. “Whatever gods he serves, I will serve in kind. The country he leads has my sword.” The priestess nodded. 

          “The ready for war, my lord Pharaoh,” she said. Castiel’s face had gone stony and he gripped Dean’s arm like it was nectar from the gods. 

        “I will take your counsel, priestess.”

       “The gods will see you married, for together you served their purpose. Grasp each other,” the priestess said. Castiel turned to face Dean. His countenance softened, seemingly in spite of himself. The took Dean’s forearms and Dean took his. The priestess gave her breath to the smoke and the room filled with it. Castiel kept his eyes on Dean. Out of the smoke, hazy shapes appeared. A lion and a leopard headed woman. A jackal headed man. An ibis headed man and one with the head of a a hawk. A beautiful woman. A cobra and a crocodile, a cat and a mummy.

        “We have come,” said the lioness, Sekhmet. “Pharaoh Ptolemy Alexander, forth bearer of your name, Castiel, first bearer of your name, King of mortal Kings, god-king, kin of mine, you have my blessing. You may harm and heal with a thought. My lioness stalks at your side. I have granted you this man. Do you find him worthy?”

       “Yes, goddess,” Castiel said. He looked so sure. His love was absolutely ferocious. 

        “Iohannes Dean of Rome, sole bearer of your name, second lieutenant in the Legion of Rome, Prefect of the Praetorian Guard, Commander of the Pharaoh’s guard of Egypt, do you see me?” Asked Mafdet, the leopard headed woman. 

        “Yes, goddess,” Dean said. His heart filled with wonder and he gazed resolutely at Castiel. 

        “I have blessed you from broth, though you did not know it. Ruthless Juno guided your father’s hands, but your strength comes from me. I have sent my leopard to stalk at your side as long as you shall live and I bless you with my ferocity in battle. Poison will never touch you. I have given you to the Pharaoh of Egypt do you find him worthy?” Dean didn’t have to think. 

       “Yes, goddess,” he said. 

        “I will not take you to the land of the dead,” said the jackal headed Anubis. “You shall live forever.”

        “What about Sam?” Dean blurted out. Eternity would be hell without him.

         “The brothers must stay together,” said ibis headed Thoth. “I have taken favor to Sam. Anubis will not take him either.” Dean relaxed. 

        “Thank you, my lord,” he said. 

       “I will grant you a child one day,” said Isis, provided you are pious. Castiel shared a private smile with Dean. 

        “Thank you, goddess,” he said. 

        “You are married,” said Sekhmet. “Your bond is forged by the gods and the gods bless it. May you never part.” 

        The smoke faded back, taking with it the gods. 

       “We’re married,” Dean said. Castiel bright him in close for a kiss. 

        “We are,” Castiel agreed. “Now, Rome approaches. We must ready for war.” Hand in hand, they left the temple. There was much to do.

******

 

     The day of war had arrived. Two years had been spent in the planning of it. In that time, Dean had taught the whole military the weak points of the Legion. Now they stood at the ready. They were on sand dunes. Using the high ground to give an edge to their archers. Castiel, Dean, Sam, and Gabriel were atop one of Castiel’s favorite war elephants. Her massive body was covered in armor and she rumbled threateningly

        “I can’t believe you’ve brought me to battle,” Gabriel huffed. 

       “You’re the best archer in Egypt and you’re safe atop the elephant. Quiet,” Castiel grumbled.

       “Some things never change,” Sam muttered to Dean. Dean couldn’t help his laugh. It was an absurd time to be bickering, but Castiel was always uncanny and he lifted their mood with ease. Dean relaxed into him briefly. Suddenly, the elephant gave a warning trumpet. Cassia climbed her way atop the massive beast and wedged herself between Castiel and Dean. She too, like everyone else, was dripping in armor. Samira stood more dignified at the elephant’s side. 

      The Legion was across the valley now. With a trumpet blast, they began their battle march. Castiel took Dean’s hand. Thousands of legionnaires marched across the sand and scrub. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if he knew any of them. Their crested war helms made a sea of red. He would never be able to pick out a face. He hoped he wouldn’t have to. Warring against the country he’d been born in already wore heavy on his shoulders, like a cloak of stone. 

    But Dean knew this was Caesar’s fault. Home and his crazy bid for domination. He  _ dared  _ stand against Egypt. And as much as Dean lives Rome, he home was with Castiel, wherever that was.  

      “Ready,  _ philatos _ ?” Castiel asked. Dean nodded. The elephant trumpeted. 

      “To battle!” He called. The army swarmed around them. The archers lit their arrows with Greek fire and shot. The legionnaires on the front line caught fire and burned. The rest met with the metal of Egypt. War elephants crushed men and swept them aside. It was Romans screaming down there. Men he likely knew. Men who had once been his brothers-in-arms. But, everyone Dean loved, everyone he truly loved, was at least together. And they would stay safe. The gods had a plan and Dean trusted it. They’d lead him to Castiel, after all. Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand. To battle indeed. 


	7. Epilogue

_ 2,066 years later  _

 

     “Jack, c’mon! Breakfast time bud!” Dean shouted down the hall. Castiel groggily shuffled into the bunker’s kitchen and pecked Dean in the cheek before reaching for a mug of coffee

     “Thank you, Dean,” he said and began to nurse his cup. Dean set a plate of bacon and pancakes down in front of them. 

       “There you go, sweetheart,” he smiled.

       “I wouldn’t survive without you,” Castiel said and began to eat. Dean sat down with his own plate and opened his laptop. 

       “There may be a hunt down in Iowa,” Dean said.

       “Oh?” Castiel said disinterestedly. Samira leapt up onto the table and rubbed her tabby cheek to feel the roughness of Castiel’s. Bastet had changed both Samira and Cassia to cats when leopards and lions came out of fashion, but they had never quite lost their big cat grace. 

       “A run of the mill haunting. By a drive in theatre. Quality family bonding time,” Dean added. 

        “Now that sounds more like it,” Castiel said. Jack bounded into the kitchen, sat in front of his plate and began to inhale his breakfast. 

       “Slow down,” Castiel chastened him gently. 

       “Sorry, Papa,” Jack said, admonished, and began to eat more slowly. Dean smiled. Jack his son, their blessing from Isis. He gave Dean as much joy as Castiel did. Now with Sam and the cats, and the occasional dinner with Gabriel, who had been reincarnated into an angel, Dean felt like he had the perfect family. And it had only taken two thousand years to complete. Not bad. 

       “What are you thinking?” Castiel asked when a smile. Dean helplessly kissed him. 

        “I have the best family,” Dean said. 

        “Chick flick moment, Dad!” Jack crowed. Dean looked at Castiel. He still had the lion eyes he’d fallen in love with in the sands of Egypt.

         “Today they’re allowed, kiddo. Today there allowed.”    

  
  



End file.
